


Pants Pants Revolution

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3362345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius' breeches save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pants Pants Revolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vimocchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vimocchi/gifts).



> For the request: Complete crackfest, so go wild! Canon era. Someone loses their pants and it changes the turnout of the revolution. Any four of these characters losing them is perfectly fine.

"The National Guard are here!" The shrill, boyish voice of Gavroche rings out across their tiny camp. Quick on the heels of that cry comes the strict clomp of boots in time, and the creaking wheels of the canons.

Marius is relieving himself when he hears the cry, and in his haste to get back to his post, he forgets to lace his breeches up, tumbling out with wetted hands to clutch too tightly at a gun. A fluffy of movement floods across the street, with Les Amis returning to their posts, checking their guns and straightening their backs, readying for the carnage to come. They are sleep-deprived and on edge, every last one of them.

"Surrender!" cries the National Guard, and they ease onto the barricade, the wood straining beneath the weight of their bodies as they aim through holes and between shards of broken furniture.

"Wait," says Enjolras quietly, ruthlessly pragmatic instead of answering the demand. "Let them get closer. We have only limited bullets."

The National Guard march closer, resplendent in their crisp uniforms and matching guns, each polished and new, unlike the guns they have, scrounged up from wherever they could and more suited to hunting game than people. "You are alone!" The cry echoes through the street, its inhabitants silently watching from behind closed shutters with morbid curiosity. "You are the only rebels who remain. Surrender!"

"Paris has failed us," says Jean Prouvaire, his voice trembling. "They do not rise with us."

"It does not matter." Enjolras's voice is steady in contrast, perhaps far too much so in his effort to keep their spirits up. Enjolras is not a foolish man, and neither is Marius though some might think otherwise. He knows the burden that Enjolras has placed upon himself.

"That's right," says Marius. His voice is, perhaps, not quite as awe-inspiring, but he has to try. "We will fight anyway. We will fight because it is the right thing to do."

"If any man wishes to go now, let him," says Enjolras. It is clear that he has no intention of going himself; and neither do his friends. They each murmur their agreement down to every last man. Marius swallows, and adds his voice.

"Look out!" There is a sharp crack that stings the air; there is movement from the corner of his eye and Marius turns, but too late. Enjolras has been tackled to the floor and where his head had been -- a bullet. There is an answering shot, and the sound of a body, falling over.

"You saved me," says Enjolras, staring at the man who pushed him to the floor. He's large and older, and he looks familiar to Marius, but he cannot quite place where from. But there is no time to stop and get to know comrades from then on, because the National Guard starts shooting. With the canon.

Splinters fly; there's glass and wood and metal embedded in Marius' arm before too long, and he keeps one arm up to shield his face. It is the only reason he doesn't see what happens next

“Gavroche!” Courfeyrac screams, and there is a momentary lull in fire as everyone turns, strains to see where Gavroche is.

"He's on the barricade," says Joly, and fear lurches through Marius' stomach.

Marius is climbing up it before anyone can stop him -- they're too busy holding back Coureyrac, no one would think he would be the one to chase after Gavroche nad perhaps that thought would hurt any time other than now. Except -- he trips.

His unlaced breeches had tumbled down his hips to sag around his knees and Marius near impales himself on the tip of his gun, collapsing to the floor in an undignified heap instead.

"We need flag!" bellows Enjolras, immediate to action as always. Marius expects Bahorel to wave the tricolour one they have but Enjolras clarifies: "White."

Time seems to slow. A bullet peels past Gavroche, mere inches from where he was a moment ago, the nimble fellow. Enjolras, the leader of them all, is calling for a white flag. That means surrender. That means giving up. That means...

"Marius!" yells Enjolras, a hand suddenly on his arm where he had been across the street a moment ago. "This will have to do!" They both flinch as a bullet riccochets off the wall near them, and it takes Marius a long moment to realise that Enjolras is forcibly pulling his breeches off his legs.

"What are you doing?!" asks Marius, kicking his legs.

Enjolras grunts, and yanks them down past Marius' ankles. "They're the only white fabric we have. Feuilly!"

Feuilly is there in a moment, tying Marius' breeches to a long strip of wood that looks like it was part of a bannister, once. He runs up the barricade and raises it, waves it as hard as he can.

"Hold fire!" The bullets stop -- Courfeyrac dashes forward and grabs Gavroche, near knocking the painfully collected bullets in his small hand to the ground, and clutches at him in a tight hug, his sobs ragged enough to heave through the heavy, silent air.

Enjolras looks around at his friends, and shakes his head minutely. Marius' stomach clenches again, though he's not sure with what feeling. "We run," says Enjolras in a low voice. A moment ago, they had all been willing to die by his side. But Enjolras is their leader, and this is what he's telling them they must do.

"I know a way," says the man from before, the man who saved Enjolras once already. "Through the sewers."

Enjolras nods, and looks around at them all. "My friends. Start going. Move quickly and quietly."

"You surrender?" asks the National Guard, bellowing from the other side of the barricade.

Enjolras stands up, proud, and squares his shoulders. He raises his voice as Joly, Bossuet and Bahorel creep away, following the man. "We do."

"Then you will be taken into custody, and tried for treason."

Next move Jehan and Courfeyrac still holding Gavroche, with a last look at Enjolras. Grantaire brings up the rear; Combeferre grabs at Marius' arm and Marius follows them, too dazed to even remember his lack of breeches.

"We are ready. Come and get us," says Enjolras loudly, clearly, throwing his gun away from him so it hits the ground with a clatter. They break into a swift and silent run past the buildings, through the small gap in the wall. They flee. Marius flees, and Enjolras is right behind him.

The National Guard climb up the barricade and discover their ploy -- there is shouting in the streets behind them, and the sounds of fire, opened once more. "Keep going," says Enjolras quietly, urgently. "We must live. We must run, we must survive. We must live to fight another day. And we will fight."


End file.
